Dirty Dancing at the Rio
by CSIBritfan
Summary: GSR One shot. A night off, latino music and the Time of Their Lives. Cheekiness in a world of GSR Angst.


**_AN - Hello again. This is a total one shot which has been nagging away in my head for a while, thanks to GGgirl. Yes, I salsa, but never like this, sadly. Yes, it is totally out of character for both Sara and Grissom, but in a world of GSR angst, a little cheekiness cuts through the night sky like a beacon... and it is fanfic and the rules of fanfic are there are no rules.lol!_**

**_Let me know if you enjoy it. Let me know if you don't._**

**_Disclaimer. I do not own CSI, Grissom, Sara, The Rio Las Vegas or Dirty Dancing. Thank you, please._**

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**DIRTY DANCING AT THE RIO**

'Come on, Griss… it'll be fun! I promise!' coaxed Sara Sidle as she dragged her reluctant partner through the gardens leading to the Rio Hotel and Casino, just off Las Vegas Boulevard.

He paused, pulling her to a halt and looked up into her expectant eyes,

'I'm not sure about this, Sara. I'm not very…' he tailed off. He was not an exhibitionist and this really was something he was dreading in the pit of his soul…

Sensing his reticence, Sara pulled him up, close and personal, her arms wrapping comfortably around his waist. She smiled up at him.

'If you don't like it, we will never come again. If you really don't like it, we can go home right there, right then. Deal?'

There was something in her persuasive technique that tempted him. He gave her a gentle half smile and nodded in agreement. She kissed the end of his nose and began to pull him the final few yards to the revolving door. He took a huge breath to steel himself and allowed himself to be dragged to his fate. She would pay for this… of that he had no doubt.

'Erm, Sara? Can we go to the bar first?' he inquired. He needed stimulation of the whiskey variety.

Sara grinned. 'Come on, then.'

She watched him lead the way to the huge bar on the casino floor. He was wearing his jeans, clinging in all the right places. She could watch him from behind all day. In a previous life, she had done. She had spent many hours staring at it, bent over the layout table… or as he leaned in to look down his microscope. She had very lucid dreams of it. That was before she had known the absolute pleasures and delights of it, bare, strokeable and, oh so definitely biteable. She shook her head to clear it of immoral thoughts of his tush and to stop herself from dragging him out of the casino just so she could have her wicked way with him. She needed a drink.

The hotel had obviously cranked the heating up. It was freezing and blowing a gale outside in Las Vegas that evening. Not nice. Winter didn't happen often in Nevada, but when it did, it made its mark. Sara took her jacket off and looked around. She saw the dance floor. Full of possibilities. Would this happen, she pondered? Grissom took his outdoor coat and scarf off and put it over the back of the bar stool. He perched himself on it, taking Sara's hand as he did so across the table. His grey tee shirt was untucked and the hem draped around his hips.

She looked fabulous, he thought. Her tight jeans accentuating her curves, her teeny weeny vest top just reaching her middle. He could look at that little expanse of skin above her jeans button all day. In a previous life he had. Catching a little, private look every time she stretched her arms above her head. He'd had very detailed and intricate dreams of it. That was before he had the total pleasure of seeing the rest of her, squirming in delight under his butterfly kisses on her skin around her belly button. He needed a drink. Quick. To quench his fires. He necked his whiskey in one smooth motion. He had to be distracted. The burning in his throat did the trick.

More and more couples arrived in the bar, awaiting the lesson. Grissom had always been a life long learner and was always wanting to experience something different. Since being with Sara, he had tried lots of different and new things. Some public, many private. When she had suggested Salsa dancing, he had nearly choked on his veggie lasagna. No, no way and never had been the first things to go through his head, but Sara persuaded him, in her own, unique and erotic way to timetable them both off shift that Monday night.

'Griss? You ready?'

He nodded. He felt like a condemned man being led to the gallows. He held her hand tightly as she drew him to her side on the dance floor. It was well lit so they could watch the demonstration and then copy the moves. They began with a basic hand hold.

'Salsa is led by the gentleman, left hand holding the ladies' right and guiding their movements across the floor,' the instructor announced.

He took her in a lovely hold for the salsa, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand as they danced the basic steps. Her eyes were transfixed on him. He moved in closer. There was nothing between them except their clothing. And if they both had their way… His eyes never left hers. The rocking motion of their hips was kicking in…

'That's good, people,' cooed the Hispanic teacher. 'Now add a cucaracha…'

'A cucaracha?' blinked Grissom, unsure if he'd heard properly.

'Yes,' smirked Sara, 'you know…Spanish for cockroach?'

'This step is named after the sideways stamp on a cockroach, to kill them on the streets of South America,' informed their instructor.

'I get it, but who would want to stamp on a cockroach? That's just wrong,' answered a mystified Grissom, his eyebrow raised as he tried to comprehend the offensive action he was currently strutting, 'They are a much misunderstood and maligned breed of insect.'

'Great! Now, let's see those hips move! Soften the knees, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!'

'You heard the man, Griss, let's see your tush moving!' giggled Sara, jealous of those dancing behind Grissom. The man could put on quite a show when he had to. She grazed her free hand down his waist, over his hip and onto his backside, giving a teasing squeeze as she encouraged more movements from his hips. Grissom's eyes shot wide open.

'Relax,' she whispered, as she pulled him closer. 'Do you want to go home? I promised we would if you weren't enjoying the salsa lesson. It's free dancing in a few minutes… it will be dark…rhythmic… sensual…'

She was met with a silent wink. She smirked up at him.

He giggled when he was taught to pelvic thrust Sara from his hip. The second time she refused to get off his knee, staying there with her arm round his waist. He gave her a gentle wink and told her they'd have to take this move home. He said it so erotically and gently... she could have died then and there… murder on the dance floor. What a lovely way to burn…

As their lesson ended and the lights dimmed, the open, all night salsa party began. Grissom and Sara were swept up and engulfed in the pounding latino rhythms and beats. Red spotlights rotated around the room, leaving many dark and delicious corners around the dance floor for couples to … express themselves.

The dances progressed and the music changed between styles – salsa, meringue, mambo, samba, cha cha cha…. Being quick learners, they picked up little moves and sequences quite easily, putting steps together in simple routines. Under arm turns, cross body leads, revolving doors, salsa turns. Grissom was getting bolder, more confident. He watched other couples as their hands roamed around their partner's bodies. Something was stirring deep within him. What if...? He wanted some of the action. He suggested a little something in Sara's ear. Her jaw hit the floor, as she watched droplets of sweat trickle from Grissom's hairline, down his cheek and onto his tee shirt, adding to the rivulets now forming on his chest.

'If you want to go home,' he teased, 'you only have to say, and we will, and never comeback here again.'

Sara could not have been more shocked, but she could not have been more willing to comply.

Slowly and seductively, Sara began running her hands through his rapidly curling, wet hair, down over his broad shoulders onto his pecs, over his nipples and onto his waist, gripping the damp waistband of his jeans. The cha cha cha was just becoming pornography. He requested she keep her hands on his butt all the way through, whether doing open handed or closed hold moves. She had to agree out of politeness. How rude would she have been had she said no to grabbing his ass? The dance was difficult, and he brought a whole new meaning to how hard it was...

And his hands? Roaming.

That's was the only way it could be described by a silent observer. Under the back of her vest top, stroking circles on her back with his thumb, his cheek resting softly on her shoulder, stroking her face, hand in her hair...

'I need to use the loo,' Grissom said, when he found he was able to move away from her safely, and without casting an embarrassing shadow. 'I'll be back in a moment…'

Sara nodded and pointed towards the bar, miming a drinking motion. He smiled and weaved his way to the toilets. The swirling dancers reminded her of being trapped in a car wash. The evening had taken quite an unexpected turn. She had never expected him to express himself so openly. She grinned as she relived their night, bumping, grinding, swaying, thrusting, sweating… and none of it in the bedroom. She took a serviette and wiped her sweat soaked brow. Her top was sticking unpleasantly to her back. She pulled it away and gave it a little shake to try and trap some cool air around her. She handed over ten dollars to pay for their beers and she seated herself at the edge of the seating area. Pushing at the lime wedge in the bottle neck with her tongue, she took a long gulp. Half a bottle later, she plonked it on the table top, reading the Keno card until she heard,

'Nobody puts Baby in a corner.'

Roaring with laughter, she looked up at Grissom, his hand outstretched towards her. She stood and embraced him.

'Drink your beer, you lunatic,' she giggled.

'I'd prefer to have a take out. I feel I have expressed myself through the medium of dance quite enough for one evening.'

She grabbed a bottle and passed it to him, then she gave him his coat. They walked into the cold night air, hands fused together and swigging out of their bottles.

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'Did you enjoy the dance lesson?'

'It was OK,' Grissom admitted, taking another drink, 'but I preferred the party dancing. Just my preference. But, erm, I'd quite like to do a little practice, at home before we come here again.'

'Ah! So there will be a next time, then?' smiled Sara, glad her idea had been such a hit.

'I'll have a word with the supervisor. See if I can schedule another Monday night at the Rio. Right now, I want a shower and to go to bed! I'm an old man and I'm exhausted.'

'Really? I thought you said you wanted to do a little practice at home?'

She pulled him to her and kissed him soundly and deliberately.

He cleared his throat.

'Hum, OK, shower first though, right?

'Yep, you're a bit sweaty and disgusting at the moment and I don't really fancy you like that.' The cheeky grin bursting across her lips shattered any illusion of a lie. In her head, she wanted to strip him down and lick the sweat off him. Right there. Right then.

'You have such a way with words, Miss Sidle.'

They began their stroll back to Sara's house. The night was cool, but their passion burned brightly in the neon infested lights of Vegas. It was most definitely the Time of their Life.

**_You like? You tell me! _**

_**CSIBritfan xxx**_


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